Pink
Pink is the color of my cheeks when you’re around
And you make me happy
Pink are the clouds my head is in when we’re together
It’s the color of ice cream we share on a summer day
Pink is the color of my dress
that makes me feel pretty when I’m with you
Pink is the color of my cheeks when you’re not around
And I’m sad
Pink are the clouds that fade away when we’re not together
It’s the color of ice cream I eat by myself on a cold rainy day
Pink is the color of my dress I keep hidden away
That reminds me of of when I lost you
A Latina’s Dinner
A little girl with hair as black as a raven
Dark chocolate eyes
Skin the color of toasted coconut flakes
Walks to her abuela’s house
The old woman is baking in her kitchen
Her old apron embroidered with roses
And plastered with flour is making tortillas
Tejano music blasts through the staticky, rusty radio
The aroma of chili peppers, beef, queso, and paprika
Surround the little girl who is mixing the rice and beans
As the sun goes down, the melodies from the stereo go up
And invites the whole street
Her familia
To enjoy the zesty and familiar flavors her abuela humbly cooks
The Traumatized Tree
In the dark, depressed village of Romania the wind howled on Twisted Lane and shook the forest to its core. All the trees looked the same. All were dull. All were dreary. All were dead. Except one. One tree was not dead. It looked worse than death. That tree was supposed to be different, it was supposed to grow, it was supposed to outgrow all the other trees. It was supposed to be the biggest, tallest, strongest tree. But it wasn’t and it never would be. One might think it would not stand out amongst the others but it did and once you saw it you never forgot it. A long crippling scar, immersed in blood trickled down the left side of the tree. It was cut so deeply it looked like the tree was suffering from immense pain by the way the brown crisp leaves shook off the branches trying to break free and escape the never ending agony. Many wonder how a promising tree could have ended up so damaged. How someone could have cut a knife through it that deeply. But I know why. I know because I did it. I did it right before I did it to myself. I wish I could say I didn’t but I did. I did it so people would know that even the best of us get pulled down in the bottomless pit of sorrow where there is no hope, no light, no way out. I did it so they would know that you may leave the world but your mark remains forever. I did it because I didn’t want to be the only one suffering. The only one to be broken. The only one to be plagued. The only one to be traumatized. Now I am not. I am not alone. The tree is there and is traumatized too. The only difference is that one is still standing and the other is not.